A lifetimealivetime
by tingtinkerbell
Summary: She sat hunched over the clay, head down, pearly tears caressing as they slipped down the contours of her face. Her honeyhued hair cascaded around her shoulders, a protective shield against the world. In which she couldn't have him. YamadaxNomiya fling.
1. Prologue Revised

Hello! TingTing desu. This is my first fanfiction, it's based on Honey and Clover. I think it's going to be quite angsty with romance (of course). YamadaxMayama. Please enjoy!

PS I am so, so, so sorry. I had to upload this again because I discovered a spelling error. Arrrrgh, sorry! Won't happen again!

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Prologue

She sat hunched over the clay, head down, pearly tears caressing as they slipped down the contours of her face. Her honey-hued hair cascaded around her shoulders, a protective shield against the world. The world. In which she couldn't have Mayama. She couldn't _have_ him. She couldn't _touch_ him. She couldn't even reach him. Yamada dug her fingers into the soft clay. She revelled at its willingness to change beneath her fingers; ever sturdy, yet ever changing, as long as you stayed with it. Unlike her and Mayama. That couldn't change. Or rather, they couldn't change. Ever. Mayama's love was like a lighthouse, a shining beacon for the lost, never changing, even in the harshest conditions of unrequited love.

With a gasp, Yamada cruelly wrenched herself from her reverie. The clay had collapsed between her hands. The sturdy, flexible, changeable, clay. Between _her_ hands. Clay _never_ collapsed between _her_ hands. Never. She and clay had an understanding, they communicated with each other in perfect synch, never straying… And now, even clay betrayed her. Yamada gasped as a wracking cry ripped through her throat. No, she told herself, firmly. The clay hadn't betrayed her. It was she, herself. She had betrayed herself. Where was her strength? Her confidence? Her sense of self-love? Her wavering, paper-thin laugh broke through the air. What was self-love when there wasn't Mayama?

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So there it is! I hope you liked it! Please tell me how I can improve it if you think it's worthwhile. I accept flaming as well, but please tell me what to do better in it! Thank you very much!

TingTing


	2. Chapter 1 The White Walls of Reality

WARNING: CONTAINS RATHER MATURE SUBJECT MATTER (not sexually-related though).

Komban-wa. TingTing-desu. Here is chapter one, finally christened "The White Walls of Reality". I hope you like it. It's really angsty, just to warn you. Well, have fun, and if you think it is adequate, please review!

Thank you very much!

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Chapter 1

Yamada inhaled, retrieving the glass container that held all the broken pottery pieces. Beautiful, coloured, fragile pottery pieces. _I won't cry. I won't cry. _Some fully stove-glazed, reflecting the sunset's scant rays; some half undone, absorbing the rebounds of the glazed pieces. _When the sun comes out, the moon becomes shrouded in the sun's glory and brightness. When the sun comes out, the moon cannot see. When the sun comes out, the moon cannot be seen._ _I won't cry._

Dazed, Yamada began to pick up the lifeless tendrils of clay that lay at her wheel. Bend down, pick up, drop. Bend down, pick up, drop. Mindless tasks that occupied her mind enough to drive the pain away. Go away. Go far, far away. A tiny prick of physical pain echoed through her numbness. She looked down. _Ah._ A sliver of dried clay had found its way into her index finger. She stared. A perfect, lovely, red rosebud bloomed from wound. She felt relief. It was proof that she was hurting. Yes, she was hurting, wasn't she? And this was a sign of it. This impossibly small butterfly, bubbling up from her. From _her_. _Yes,_ Yamada thought. _This is the answer. This pain leaks away the numbness. It brings me back to reality. And it relieves… pain? But wait, what is this pain…? Ah, yes, I remember now. Emotions… feelings? And after feelings… what is related to my feelings? No… not what, who? Ah. Yes. Mayama. So then it is better not to have feelings, so that I can't and won't hurt, right? And… and then I become numb. But then, after that… I can't draw myself up from the numbness. And I become trapped. Imprisoned. Captured. Tied down. Like a knife throwing contest to see who can pin down the fluttering red butterfly. But, now I know how to get out of the numb. And if I know how to get out of the numb, then I won't be in danger of losing to the numb. And so… and so that means that I be numb anytime I want. But now, right now, I want out. I want sharp, painful, cruel reality. Yes, the white walls of reality._

Yamada reached into the glass container. The glass container that held all the colourful remnants of potential. They, who had once held something that could've been given life. Breathed through by the deft hands of the artist. She selected a piece. A large, sharp, red piece. _Red for the sunset. Red for my butterfly. Red for my blood. It's fitting._, she thought.

She raised it above her left arm. Turned it around so that the pale whites of her wrist faced the frank rouge of the piece. She brought it down, slowly, letting the sharp edge brush against her wrist, asking permission. And permission it granted. Eyes on the point of contact, she pressed down with the piece and slowly, excruciatingly slowly, ran it across her wrist. She felt the rush of the release of endorphins before she saw the thin red thread that ran across her wrist. Right where the piece had, so lightly, skipped and tripped across. It was her magic piece. Her magic dagger. One that could take all the pain away, only asking for a strand of bubbling wetness in return. And plus, red was a pretty colour. Yes. A pretty colour. She raised the piece again. _No. Not piece. Dagger._ And again, she prepared to pour the slight pressure that fuelled the magic dagger. She was oblivious to the room. She was oblivious to the world. She was oblivious to the deafening harsh bang of the door.

Nomiya ran to Yamada's broken, hunched silhouette. Saw the stained, guilty, red pottery. Saw the gossamer-thin snake, still fresh from its birth. He wrenched the poison away, threw it against the wall, heard it shatter. Yamada looked up, blank and confused. Nomiya fell to his knees and roughly wrapped his arms around her slender form. He buried his face in the back of her shoulder, and held her wrists desperately, shaking them. "Don't you dare.", he whispered fiercely. "Don't you dare hurt yourself. Because I'll never, ever forgive you. So don't. Don't ever do ever that again. Ever."

And for the first time in what seemed like a century, Yamada exhaled, dropped her head, and allowed the lone, proud, tear to drop.

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Well, there it was. Did you like it? Any advice to give? I even welcome flaming, as long as it holds some kind of critism that I can use (that doesn't come in the form of "F off, you illiterate b.") Again, thank you for taking your time in reading this!

Jya-nai!

TingTing


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